


Depression is more than a state of Mind

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written (wow, forever long ago) for a zine themed to use the Blake's 7 characters in a different historical setting. I chose the Depression in the US, and was quite pleased at how well the personalities and general backstories fit. On re-reading and reformatting the story today, I still find it an entertaining and worthwhile read.</p><p>Times are hard, but people don't change. Avon is cynical, but sticks to his own code of morals. Cally is still a firebrand revolutionary, Blake is still an innocent man exiled by a false accusation levied by a corrupt government, Vila is still a cheerful thief whose best friend is Gan, a strong, quiet man, and Jenna drives a taxi (no spaceships in this story.)</p><p>The names are changed slightly, but only to fit the times, you'll recognize them easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depression is more than a state of Mind

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

It was big, bright red, and lovingly polished. And in someone else's hand. For a moment, all Will felt was a mild annoyance. He'd been patronizing Apple Annie's cart for so long he felt a proprietary attitude. That was the apple he'd spotted as he approached. It really ought to have been his. 

But the man turned aside without dropping a coin into the old woman's bowl, and Will's annoyance turned to righteous anger. Will signaled silently to his companion and they followed the man into the alley behind Annie's stand. 

The man noticed almost immediately and backed up to the brick wall, not quite touching it. Didn't want to get himself dirty, Will thought in contempt, seeing the expensive suit. The man was about his own height and build, but stood with an arrogant erectness that made him seem taller. They hemmed the man in on either side.

"What do you want?" the man asked, his clipped, aristocratic tones an insult in themselves. His gaze flicked up at Will's friend, who towered over both of them. Then he turned his attention to Will, ignoring the other.

Despite himself, Will was mildly impressed. Olaf was a gentle man at heart, but most people didn't see that at first. They'd used his size to intimidate more than a few victims in the various games they played to live. This man wasn't intimidated. He was afraid, Will could see that in the way his hands shook, but he wasn't intimidated. Will hesitated, but the other made the mistake of noticing that also, and the gleam of triumph in those cold, brown eyes angered Will all over again.

"I want you to pay for the apple. Stealing from a blind, old lady- you ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you were pretty obvious about it. Leave the thieving to them as knows how to do it with a bit of style." 

"Oh, that's good. That's absolutely perfect. A pick-pocket and his clod-hopping friend are going to teach me morals?" the superior attitude positively dripped from his precisely enunciated words. 

"Yes." Will rolled up his sleeves, knowing full well that Olaf would take care of him. They were friends. Had been ever since he'd gotten Olaf off the chain gang. 

Abruptly the man reached into his pocket, produced the apple and tossed it into a pile of rags. "Take it, then." He was flushed, and his eyes glittered wildly, his hands shaking even more. 

"I want you to pay for it," Will insisted. "One way or another."

The man crouched slightly. "It'll have to be the other, then." 

This wasn't right. This guy must be crazy. Dressed the way he was, he must have money coming out his ears. Why would he fight rather than pay a nickel? Will backed up a step and the man lunged for him, suddenly fierce, a straight razor clenched in one hand. Will ducked, and the man ran into the solidity of Olaf's right fist. He crumpled and Olaf caught him.

"I didn't hit him that hard," Olaf said, worry creasing his broad forehead. He held the other man under the arms, keeping him from the filth of the gutter. 

Will picked up the razor, folded it carefully and patted the other down. "Nothing." He started in surprise, then searched the man more thoroughly. No weapons beside the razor, and no money, none at all. There was an expensive wallet, but it was empty. "Well, how d'ya like that, Olaf? He's stony broke. Mr. Fancy-Pants, toffee-nosed, pretty boy, is flat on his uppers."

"He's sick," Olaf commented. "Feverish." Now Olaf's round face turned mournful as they saw the flush and the shaking hands in a new light. 

"Wasn't our fault," Will said, although he was beginning to feel a bit guilty himself. The fine clothes looked rather worn at close range, and the Italian leather shoes were scuffed and down at the heels. Another rich man who'd fallen out of his ivory tower. A lot of them had literally jumped four years ago when the market crashed. "Dump him. He'll be all right."

"No, he won't." Olaf could be stubborn. Especially when he thought something just wasn't right'. In some ways he was a liability.

Will sighed. "All right. But we'll take him to Cally. We can't afford a pet." 

"Thanks, Will." Olaf draped the unconscious man over his shoulder. There were so many drunks in this part of town, no one would notice one more. These days, folks didn't have much energy to spare for questions, anyway.

Will paused by Annie's cart, to drop in a dime and pick an apple for himself. Annie's black eyes stared vacantly through her dark glasses as she smiled and said, "God Bless you sir." Once the trio were around the corner, she ducked into the alley and picked up the apple in the rag pile, inspected it closely, wiped it off and placed it back on the stand. "Apples? Apples?" she cried piteously, "buy an apple from a poor, old, blind woman?"

"Let us in, Cally," Will didn't quite shout. He was embarrassed enough about his good deed without drawing attention to it at the back door of the All Soul's Mission.

The young woman who eventually opened the door stood in the entrance, her hands on her slender hips, eying Will and Olaf aggressively. She glanced at Olaf's burden and sniffed. "Rolling drunks? That's a come-down for you, Will."

"He's sick," Will said, weakly. "Just give him a place to doss, Cally. He won't be no trouble," he said, trying to convince himself.

Cally lifted the man's head to peer into his face. "Pretty," she commented. "Con- man or gigolo?"

"I don't think so."

"Who is he? What's wrong with him?" Cally's foot tapped as Will fumbled for answers. "Why did you bring him to me, Will?"

Will smiled, winningly. "Because you're an angel of mercy?"

Cally laughed and stepped aside, allowing them to enter. "Put him in the back room. And Will," she put a hand on Will's chest, stopping him from following Olaf, "this had better not be one of your tricks."

"Me?"

***

Cally frowned down at the man lying on the cot. She really should be more stern. Freeing the masses was much more important than any one person, herself included. Still, she couldn't very well free the masses by herself. Last winter she'd thought the revolution was upon them, but since Roosevelt had taken office, people had hope that things would be better and weren't interested in fighting the system.

Maybe things would be better, for some people, but there would always be those who were trodden underfoot by the rich, the selfish, callous rich. This man had been a member of that class, the petty bourgeois. Brought low by their own economic manipulations. She ought to feel satisfaction in her enemy's sufferings. Unfortunately, the unconscious man looked more like an innocent child than a wicked plutocrat.

"Strip him." 

"What?" Will looked shocked, "I always thought you were a nice girl, Cally."

"I'm also a trained nurse. He hasn't got anything I haven't already seen. If it will make you feel better, I'll go for the first aid kit while you do it." She strode out of the room without looking to see if they obeyed.

When she returned with a bucket of warm soapy water and the aid kit, the man was covered by a shabby blanket and his clothes were draped over a chair. She put down the bucket, and flung the blanket back despite Will's protests. She examined the man thoroughly. "Mostly exhaustion," she decided. "I don't think he's actually very ill, just worn out. Nothing unusual. I've seen it in dozens of bums. Except that he's cleaner than most bums."

"Thank you," came an acid voice that startled them all. The man was awake, and staring at her. He pulled the blanket up into his lap, and reached his hand out. "My clothes, if you don't mind." He said it as if he expected to be obeyed, and Will automatically responded, his hand actually on the clothes before Cally stopped him with a word.

"No. You aren't going anywhere."

"Kidnapping?" The man gave a short, bitter laugh. "Once it would have been worth your while." His eyes went completely black. "Once there would have been someone willing and able to pay for me."

"Who are you?" Cally asked.

"Nobody. Not now."

"Even a nobody has a name," Will said. "I'm Will Restal, that's Olaf Gan," he pointed to the large man standing silently at the bedside, "and the lovely lady is Cally Auron."

"Well, now, you've proved your point. Even nobodies have names."

Cally started forward, angry, but stopped when she saw the man fight to rise onto one elbow, and fail. "You're sick, so I will make allowances, but they will only go so far. This is the All Soul's Mission. You are safe here, and may stay until you are better."

"A soup kitchen? No, thank you, I've never cared for charity." The man managed to sit up. "I'm sure you can find more worthy recipients of your concern."

"Undoubtedly. Very well. If you can get up and get your clothes, you may leave. We won't stop you." Cally stepped back.

The man glared, pushed his legs out of the bed, and wrapped the blanket around himself. "Would you mind turning your back?"

"No, not at all." Cally turned, and waited. There was a thump, followed by quiet, but heartfelt, cursing. She turned back to see the man on the floor, weakly pushing Olaf's hands away.

"Olaf, leave him alone." She knelt by the man and said, "Do you really want to die? I won't waste my time on a suicide. There are too many other people who haven't given up." She met the man's eyes and waited.

After a long moment, he sighed and said, "My name is Carr Avon."

Cally smiled. "Let's get you back in bed, Mr. Avon."

"Carr. You may call me Carr."

Will rubbed his hands together. "Well, Carr, old chum, I guess Olaf and I can leave you in Cally's capable hands. Sorry about the misunderstanding."

"Avon to you."

"Avon? If you insist," Will grinned. "Not Mr. Avon, just Avon?"

***

Much later, long after Will and Olaf had left and the soup had run out, Cally heard a knock at the back door once more.

"Breakfast is at six. Clothing is distributed on Thursdays. We have no dormitory facilities or any money," Cally said in a practiced, no nonsense tone, as she opened the door. 

"Pity about the money." A tall, curly-headed man stood there, smiling at her.

"Rog! When did you get back? How did it go?" Cally asked, flinging her arms around the man. "Why didn't you write?" 

"Wait, wait, one question at a time." He patted her, gave her a brief hug, then disentangled himself and picked up a small leather satchel. "Let's get inside first."

"Of course." Cally led the way. "Oh, I've given your bed to a man Will brought in today."

The tall man laughed. "Where am I to sleep?" He grinned, teasing.

"I wouldn't want to upset Jane," Cally replied, calmly.

"There's nothing between us," he protested.

"Not for lack of desire- on either side. It's very frustrating for Jane, you know." Cally linked arms companionably with Rog.

"It's frustrating for me, too. She deserves better than me. My name's been dragged through the mud, I can't offer it to any woman, not until I've cleared myself."

"Jane doesn't care about that. She loves you."

"You know, for a dedicated Young Communist, you spend a great deal of time worrying about people's feelings."

"Under Communism, you would never have been falsely accused and made to take the blame for a crooked politician." Cally's eyes glowed with fervor.

"I won't argue with you." Rog stopped, pulling Cally to a standstill. "Hello." Carr Avon stood in the hall, propped up in the doorway, staring silently at Cally. "Is this the man you mentioned?" Rog extended his right hand, "I'm Roger Blake. Pleased to meet you, Mr. ?"

"Avon," Cally supplied, "Carr Avon."

Avon didn't take his eyes from Cally. "Communist?" he accused, "One of those idealistic fools who advocate beggaring the successful to make life rosy for the incompetent?"

Cally stiffened. Rog replied, calmly enough, "One of those idealistic fools who has taken you in off the street."

"I didn't ask for help. I don't need any help." Avon straightened. 

"Don't be an idiot, man. You can barely stand," Rog said. "Besides, Communism does have its good points. Don't you think the rich owe it to the less fortunate to help them?"

"I think Communism is a ridiculous system, bound to fail, and vulnerable to worse excesses than the ridiculous system known as Capitalism. The rich deserve to keep their money as long as they can hold onto it. Until someone cleverer or more ruthless relieves them of it."

"I see," Rog said. "You're an Anarchist, then."

"I don't belong to any pin-headed organization." Avon swayed and Rog stepped forward to catch him before he could hit the floor.

***

"Interesting man," Rog said to Cally over a cup of Mission 'coffee' after depositing Avon back in the cot in the back room. 

"I recognize that look, Rog. Don't try to recruit him."

"Why not, Cally? Are you staking a claim?" He grinned as the woman ducked her head. "You're blushing."

"It is very hot in here," Cally said with dignity. "And of course I am not claiming him. The man is impossible. He's arrogant, the most decadent materialist I have ever met, selfish, vain, sinfully proud..."

"You've been thinking about him a lot." Rog stopped teasing Cally and turned serious. "He's familiar to me, somehow."

"Perhaps you met him at a political rally while you worked for Grafton...no, that doesn't seem likely, does it?" 

Rog gnawed on a finger while he thought. "We've never met. I could hardly forget him. But I have seen him. He has a rather unique profile, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't know," Cally lied. "I didn't look that closely."

Blake grinned, then slapped his hand down on the table. "Got it! Back before the crash he embezzled five hundred thousand dollars in securities, and got away with it, too. He was in all the papers. It was a nine-day's wonder. They couldn't understand how he did it, or how he got away."

"I remember now," Cally frowned, "But wasn't it five million? It doesn't look as though he got away with anything, though."

"Even if he doesn't have the money, he still pulled off something remarkable. A man with that kind of brain can be very useful to me."

"Except that he doesn't like you. Either of us," Cally added.

"I don't think he likes starving in the street, either. I can talk him round."

"Well, I want to be there when you try. It's bound to be entertaining."

***

"How come y'don't like Rog?" Will asked, as he moved his knight. Avon was the first man he'd met in ages who could give him a decent game of chess, and he also enjoyed the man's barbed wit. In the two weeks since they met, he'd grown almost fond of the insults, which became more inventive as Avon regained his strength.

"He is a do-gooder, damn near a saint. Being a mere imperfect mortal myself, I find him irritating." Avon's proposed move was cautious, perhaps too cautious. He considered a moment, then made it anyway.

Will crowed in delight, and ended the game with a move that Avon really ought to have seen coming. "Checkmate!" He began picking up the worn pieces to put lovingly back in their faded,velvet-lined box. "Your mind wasn't on the game tonight. That was too easy."

"Maybe I'm tired."

"Maybe you're thinking about Cally?" Will gave Avon a nudge in the ribs, ignoring the affronted glare that produced. "She's been thinking about you, I'll wager."

"I won't bet with you," Avon said automatically. "Not only do you cheat, you welsh."

"Never with friends," Will said. "C'mon, tell me about you and Cally."

"There is nothing to tell. She is...charitable," Avon spat the word out. "Nothing more."

"I could do with a bit of charity from that lady, eh?" Will smirked, then wiped the expression from his face, as Avon frowned, apparently not appreciating the joke. "Well," he continued, "if you don't want to join up with Rog, maybe you could work with me and Olaf."

"Work? Is that what you call it? Petty thievery and simple-minded con games are not my style."

"Don't tell me you're an honest citizen. The shock would kill me."

Avon grinned. "Well, now, that might make it worthwhile. As you are well aware, it is not the morality of your 'work' that offends me, it is the disproportionately small reward and high probability of being caught. I've been in jail once, thank you, that was quite enough for me."

Will took a swig from his bottle, enjoying the smooth taste of real whiskey, then wrapped the brown bag tighter around the bottle. Prohibition hadn't been over long enough for him to erase the feeling he was doing something furtive and illegal. "How'd you get out? Professional curiosity," he added, quickly. "C'mon, I told you how I broke me and Olaf out of the chain-gang."

"Yes, and Olaf gave me the true story later. I was impressed by the part where you got the bloodhounds drunk, but you left out the drainage ditch by the fertilizer factory."

"Wouldn't you?"

"On due consideration, perhaps I would." He stared at the peeling wallpaper for so long that Will thought he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. "I don't recall the details of my escape very clearly. I had been wounded, and the sadist who captured me was taking advantage of my weakness to interrogate me about my accomplices, and the whereabouts of the money."

"Did you tell him? Is that how you lost the money?"

"No, I didn't tell him. I might have, if... no, I didn't tell him. I was in the back room of a stationhouse, locked in alone when he went out for a break. I don't think he told anyone who I was, wanting to keep the reward for himself, no doubt. Things were rather... hazy. A man in police uniform came, and dragged me out. It was one of my 'friends'. He told me that - the other- was dead, shot down by a bullet meant for me. He'd buried her in secret, and come to rescue me, but he wanted all the money in return."

"All of it? What a greedy bugger."

"Yes. That sums up Tynus." Avon shrugged. "I wasn't in a position to argue. I told him where the money was hidden. He got me to a doctor who didn't ask questions, then shoved me into a boxcar of a freight train heading west."

"We could put a bit of the black on ol' Tynus," Will suggested. "He can't turn you in without getting himself in it up to his ears. That ought to be worth a few thousand, at least."

Avon grinned. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. Tynus put all the money into the Stock Market."

"Oh." Will sighed. "Pity. All that lovely loot wasted."

"Yes." Avon's eyes went distant again. "It was a pity. And a great waste."

***

"Avon." Rog Blake had gotten into the habit of addressing Cally's reluctant guest the same way that Will did. It started out as a joke, but now it seemed natural. "Why are you here?"

Avon's head came up, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He put down his tools neatly beside the disassembled typewriter he was investigating. "Cally asked me to see if I could repair her machine. It seems little enough repayment for her hospitality."

"Cally and I both run this mission."

"Fine. So is there something I can do for you?" Avon held up a hand. "Something that does not involve joining your cult."

"We're not a cult. Cally and I just want people to learn to live together in harmony. We don't ask your politics, or religion."

"That's fine, because I haven't any. But I do have a defective typewriter, so if you don't mind..."

"You didn't answer my question. You've been here for a month. You were well enough to leave in a week, but you stayed."

"I have gone over every inch of this rat-infested building, fixed your boiler, your wiring, your stove and..." Avon was getting louder and sharper with each item.

Rog interrupted, "I didn't say you hadn't more than earned your keep, man. I just want to know why you've stayed. We need you."

"Oh, yes, I'm useful," Avon said bitterly. "I imagine that's why you didn't turn me in to the police. You knew who I was from the beginning."

"Yes, I knew." Rog gave Avon a sympathetic look. "I remember the story. You were tricked into committing that crime. That woman, Anna..."

Avon stood, and growled, "Don't you say anything about her."

"You aren't an evil man, just misguided. You don't belong in prison. Why, with your skills and intelligence..."

"I can go far? Not likely. I am on the run. If there were any jobs to be had, a man with no recommendations or verifiable education would be the last to be hired. Did it ever occur to you that I am still here simply because I have no place to go? Because I honestly don't care what happens to me anymore? I'm just another derelict, looking for an easy meal and an opportunity not to have to think beyond tomorrow."

"No, actually, that never did occur to me. You still care."

"Suit yourself." Avon turned back to the typewriter. "Believe in Santa Claus if it makes you happy."

***

"You'll never make a lay missionary out of Avon. He's a tough nut," Will said, shaking his head. "Sorry, Rog, he's more my kind'a guy than yours."

"Then why hasn't he gone on any 'jobs' with you?" Blake said, genially. Will was such a friendly, genuinely likable, fellow that you overlooked the fact that he was also a sneak thief. Totally incorrigable, but he regularly donated to the mission things that had 'dropped off the back of a truck'. 

Will's face fell. "He says it's because I don't think big enough. I think big. I just don't want to get too popular with the cops."

"Maybe it's because he's basically an honest man?"

After Will stopped laughing, he told Blake, "If I told you half the schemes he's come up with... one day he's going to clean out Fort Knox."

Blake sighed. All he wanted to do was help people, and it was obvious that poor, cynical Avon needed his help. He could envision a bright, wonderful future, where all people were able to live up to their full potential. FDR's New Deal was a step in the right direction, but no one was addressing the problems of government corruption, and abuse of authority. Every man, woman and child should have certain rights. Now, more than ever, human dignity should be respected. Avon had listened to Rog's theories and commented that all people wanted was a full stomach, and the hell with human dignity. 

Cally was the only one who really agreed with Rog. It was a pity he hadn't fallen for her instead of Jane. Cally warmed his spiritual side, but Jane- ah, there was a woman for you. He still remembered the day they'd met. It was so hot in the back seat of the checkered cab he'd hired to take him to the mission that he'd taken off his hat and opened his shirt for relief. He had been hot under the collar in more than one sense. 

He'd uncovered discrepancies in the records, and innocently brought them to Mayor Grafton's attention. The man had been shocked. And even more shocked the next day when 'evidence' turned up in Rog's desk, in a fair copy of Rog's handwriting. He wanted to dispute the accusation, but he was privately shown other forged papers which implicated him in far more serious crimes.

A prison term would have wiped out his chances of ever holding political office. So he swallowed his pride and mouthed the lies about taking a sort of semi-religious sabbatical, to better learn the needs of the people by taking charge of a soup kitchen. It was that, or leave his native city entirely. The injustice of it all had him fuming.

So when he looked up, feeling someone's eyes on him, and caught the cabdriver staring in the mirror at Rog's chest, he was in the mood for a good, knock-down-drag-out, bare knuckles bout. Only the driver had laughed and taken off 'his' plaid cap to reveal a wealth of golden blonde hair, and a wicked sense of humor. He'd lost his heart in that instant.

"Rog? Rog!"

"Um? Yes, Will?" With an effort, Blake brought his attention back to the man sitting opposite from him. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"About that rat who double-crossed you? Give it up, Rog. You can't beat city hall."

"No, actually I was thinking about Jane." Rog's mouth curved. 

"You're not the only one," Will muttered.

Rog looked up, startled. Will sounded upset. "What's the matter?" Rog asked.

"I don't know as I ought to say..." Will squirmed, then blurted, "I saw her with Avon. Yesterday, when you were late meeting her."

"So? I know they don't get along, and I asked her to try to be a bit more tolerant."

"This was maybe more tolerant than you had in mind."

"What? What did he do, Will?" Now that he thought back, Jane had been flushed, and embarrassed last night. She said it was nothing, but if Avon had made a pass at her, Rog was going to kick the ungrateful wretch out on his backside.

"Weeell, I could have made a mistake." Will had never seen Rog really angry. It frightened him. "It was kinda dark in the corner there, maybe... er, maybe they weren't really ..."

By this time, Rog's imagination had filled in more details than he could stand. "Avon!" he roared, kicking over his chair as he rose.

"Wait, wait! Rog?" Will yelled, and started after the big man. "Oh, no. He's gonna kill Avon. Should'a kept my big mouth shut." By the time he caught up with Rog, Rog had Avon cornered in the storeroom and the two were shouting so loud they couldn't have heard a bomb go off. Will tried to pull Rog back, but was swatted aside against the staircase leading down to the basement.

Rog had a double handful of Avon's collar, and Avon was holding a screwdriver like a knife. Will closed his eyes and clung to the stair rail, not wanting to be a witness. Something pushed past him on the stair, there was a loud 'splash!' and then near silence, broken only by sputtering. He opened his eyes. Cally stood before him, her back stiff with outrage, an empty bucket swinging from her left hand. Avon and Rog had backed off from each other, so that he had a clear view of all three. The men were dripping, soaked to the skin, with dirty grey bubbles clinging in their hair. It was a toss-up as to who looked more ridiculous, Rog, with his curls plastered along his skull or Avon, with a huge clump of bubbles tracing a path along his nose. One thing was sure, the fight was over. Will collapsed onto the stair, biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

"What did you do that for?" Rog asked Cally.

"Back in the old country, that's how you break up a dog fight." Cally was smug. "I'm glad to see it still works here." She stopped swinging the bucket. "Now, what was that all about?"

"Avon's been bothering Jane," Rog said, sullenly. "Will saw him, yesterday."

Avon turned his glare from Blake to Will. "What lies did you tell him?"

Will flinched. "I just said I saw you talking to Jane. In the dark. And you were awful close. It looked like..."

"You are an idiot," Avon said. He turned back to Rog. "For your information, Jane was trying to convince me to help uncover proof of your innocence. It would be easier to uncover proof of your stupidity."

"Oh, you mean you've never looked at Jane?"

"I've looked," Avon admitted. "She is beautiful. But she is her own woman, and she decided, for whatever reason only God knows, that you are her man. She's getting impatient, though. If you had any sense at all, you'd marry her before she changes her mind."

Rog shook his head. "I can't. Not until I've redeemed my honor."

"Then Jane is doomed to die an old maid. You've been going at it all wrong, trying to work within the system, trying to expose corruption by talking to those who have a vested interest in keeping it covered. You've been a minor annoyance to them. If you ever do get anywhere, they'll have you thrown into a cell for the rest of your life."

Cally had been listening, intently. Now she asked, "How would you go about it, then?" 

"I wouldn't," Avon said, "It's pointless. What does it matter if you remove one set of crooks from office? They're all the same. An honest man hasn't a chance." Avon blinked, then smirked at Will. "That is, unless he was willing to let a few crooks even the score."

"Here, now," Will spoke up. "You aren't trying to volunteer me for anything."

"I'm not surprised you'd want to play it safe," Avon said. "I'd rather die quickly with a fortune in my hands than starve in a gutter."

"I'm not doing so bad," Will protested.

"You're not doing so well, either. Grafton has all the more lucrative swindles under his thumbs. He's in bed with the mob; everyone knows it. Every penny-ante bookmaker, shop-owner, anyone who needs a license to operate or the cops to look the other way- they all pay their percentages. Not much from any one, but added altogether," Avon rubbed his hands, "a profitable business. And any businessman must keep books. Which I can decipher, once I get my hands on them. They will undoubtedly be kept in a safe. Which will likely have other contents of more immediate value."

"Value? As in money?" Will sidled closer to Avon, not close enough to get dripped on, but close enough for a conspiratorial whisper. "Avon, ol' chum, ol' buddy, ol' pal, are you sure you don't need a bit of help?"

Avon grinned and draped a sodden arm over Will's back. "Possibly. How are you at safe-cracking?"

Will buffed his nails on his jacket. "I am the best there is." He paused, considering. "Well, at least that's not in the pen at the moment."

Rog said, "I won't allow either of you to commit a crime for my sake."

"Why? Afraid we'll get caught and implicate you?" Avon snapped.

Rog shook his head. "I'm afraid for you. Grafton couldn't have me killed without raising questions he didn't dare have asked, but two thieves? His security men would shoot you down like dogs."

Will looked nervous. "Er, maybe Rog's right."

"Coward," Avon said, pushing Will away from him. 

Cally spoke up, "Grafton has been victimizing the poor far too long. If Will will not help you, I will."

"Here, now," Will said, insulted, "what do you know about safe-cracking? It's an art form. You need delicate, skillful hands, and years of training."

"Either that, or a couple pounds of TNT. I had a friend who taught me how to construct explosive devices."

Will was shocked. "That's crude. And what were you planning to blow up, anyway?"

Cally smiled. "I hadn't decided yet.."

Avon added, "Bombs are noisy. Still, if we struck quickly enough..."

Rog grabbed Avon's arms and shook him. "Stop it! I won't have it. You won't drag Cally into this. Avon, think about her. Do you want her to die, as your Anna did?"

Furious, Avon pulled loose, and struck Rog- one swift right cross that decked the bigger man. He stood over Rog's body, staring down at him. "I told you not to mention her," he snarled. He shook his head, then told Cally, "I think I've worn out my welcome." He started out of the room, but Cally caught at his sleeve.

"Wait. You can't go."

"Can't I?" He straightened to his full height. "I have already stayed too long. I am a fugitive. It was inexcusibly stupid of me to linger. If I am caught, and they discover that you knowingly sheltered me, you will be punished for it. That big fool," he nudged Rog with his foot, "was right about that. You have done nothing to deserve sharing my fate."

"I would like to," Cally said softly, looking up into his face. "I would like very much to share your fate."

Avon's face softened. His hand came up to trace the outline of her face. "I find it hard enough to live with myself now. I'm sorry, Cally. Go back to your pamphlets and your charities. We were never meant to be together." Without a second look back, he left.

"Follow him, Will," Cally said, fiercely. 

"Should I?" Will looked down at Rog, then up at the tears sparkling in the corners of Cally's eyes. "All right. For you. I'll look after him, don't worry." He patted her on the arm and hurried out after the other man. 

Rog stirred. He looked up. "Avon?"

"He's gone," Cally said. 

He sat up and rubbed his chin, wincing. "I shouldn't have said that. Do you think Avon would forgive me if I apologized?"

"He's gone," Cally repeated. 

"Yes, I know, but when he comes back..." Rog's voice trailed off as he got a good look at Cally's face. "He's not coming back, is he?"

Wordlessly, Cally shook her head.

Rog sighed.

***

Avon was striding so rapidly that Will was hard put to catch up. "Er, would you like to come to my flop? Olaf's and mine, I mean?"

"Why?"

"Well, you could use a wash, and a change of clothes." Will wrinkled his nose. "That wasn't exactly Eau de Cologne Cally dumped on you."

"That's not what I meant. Why are you inviting me? Did Cally ask you to?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just..." Will glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. "I wanted to talk to you. Rog told me a lot about Mayor Grafton. Things you'd need to know."

"That presupposes a great deal. I have no reason to care about Rog Blake's reputation. Why should I risk my neck to clear him?"

"Because Cally would want you to do it? Because you'd enjoy saving Rog's backside, so that he could feel really guilty? Because you haven't a bean, and Mayor Grafton is rolling in mazooma?"

"Ah. The last reason is a compelling one. I do need funds."

"So, how about it?"

Avon paused, gazing at Will's friendly grin. "All right. But if you let Rog in on it..."

"Do I look stupid?" At Avon's smirk, Will added hastily, "I know, I know." He shook his head. "Why do I always fall for that one? Don't answer that."

***

"How are we doing?" Will asked, trying to peer over Avon's shoulder. He'd cased joints before, but never anything on this scale. After a week of preparations, his nerves were shot. Avon just got colder, and more controlled.

"We are doing fine." Avon put down the blue-prints he was studying. "The night watchmen?"

Will nodded and told him the results of his latest gossip gathering. "They play poker most every night. For match sticks. They're poor, but proud. Not bribable, but not too bright, either."

"A distraction, then?"

"If it had good legs." 

"Hmm." Avon cocked his head to one side. "Do you think Jane would be willing to compromise her ethics for Rog?"

Will laughed. "Are you kidding?"

***

Whump! In the middle of the night, any sound seemed louder than normal. The two men who sat on battered chairs just inside the entrance of City Hall started up, nearly knocking the cards from the folding table set up between them.

"What was that?" The first man asked. He was broad-shouldered, but had a disproportionately sharp face. His card-partner was even bigger than him, but had a duller expression.

"Dunno." The second man listened, then shrugged and returned to staring at his hand.

"Shouldn't we go check?"

"Mebbe. One card," he said, selecting his discard.

"Might be trouble," the first said.

"Yeah, all right." The second man folded his cards together and left them on the table. "Let's go see," he said as he got up to follow the other man.

There was a street lamp directly outside the building. Under its yellow glare they could see a checkered cab had jumped the curb and was nuzzling the post. The cab's fender was slightly dented and the post was slightly bent but still functional.

"Oh, no!"

The voice was feminine and distressed. It would have taken harder hearts than these two men possessed to ignore it.They turned to face a very flustered young woman, whose hair glowed like molten gold. She was wearing a long, pale-colored gown. Back-lit by the street lamp, her figure was clearly outlined. 

"Do you need help, Miss?" the first watchman asked.

The woman smiled brightly. "Oh, yes, I do. My brother let me borrow his cab, and I'm afraid he'll kill me when he sees what I've done to it."

"Doesn't look that bad," the second man said, bending down to examine the damage.

"Thank goodness." The woman wrung her hands. "Do you know if there's a garage nearby. A cheap one. I haven't much money." The hazel eyes began to glisten and she stifled a sob. 

"Hey, Harry, we can fix this, can't we?" the first man said.

"For a pretty lady, sure." The second man rolled up his sleeves, revealing massively muscled forearms. "Do you have a jack?"

"It worked," Avon whispered, pressing himself back into the shadows on the side of the building. "Let's get on with it," he told Will and Olaf, testing the front door. As he expected, the guards hadn't bothered to lock it behind them. They could have gotten in through another door, or even a window, but then they might have stumbled across the guards, who had orders to patrol at irregular intervals. Avon preferred to know where the enemy was. He led the other two through the darkened hallways, their gum-soled shoes making no sound on the polished marble floors.

"This is it, Grafton's office," Avon whispered, consulting his much-folded, annotated plan of the executive offices. He tried the door. "Locked."

Will's pick had the door open in bare seconds and he was the first into the room. "Hurry." He found the gas light and lit it, trimming the wick so that the barest glow illuminated the room. Framed photographs of leading citizens stared down at him, disapproving. He swallowed hard, and located Mayor Grafton's portrait. The Mayor was standing, both hands tucked into his suspenders in the 'good old boy' pose that served him so well at election time. "Excuse me, Mr. Mayor," Will muttered as he swung the portrait out on its hidden hinges, revealing a wall safe. 

"How long will it take?" Avon asked. 

"As long as it takes," Will replied. He said to Olaf, "Keep him off my back, will you?"

Avon opened his mouth, irked, but shut it again, when Olaf put a broad hand lightly on his shoulder. "Will works best when he's not disturbed," Olaf said mildly. The big man went over to the mayor's finely carved solid oak desk and amused himself by ripping the locked drawers out of it and sifting through the contents.

"Tsk, tsk," Olaf said, "Naughty French postcards." He pocketed them. 

"Somehow, I didn't think that was quite your style," Avon remarked as he knelt to rummage through the drawers himself.

"Oh?" Olaf discovered an open bottle of expensive Scotch, and sampled it. He smiled, wiped the top of the bottle with his hand and offered it to Avon.

Avon accepted and drank. After he let his breath out in a whoosh, he said, "You never seem to notice Jane. Or Cally. Or any of Will's pretty little friends."

Olaf shrugged. "I notice them, but, well, I was in love once."

"And you lost her?" Avon asked, softly. In the background, Will was muttering to himself as he turned the tumblers on the wall safe. Avon and Olaf had settled companionably to the floor, the whiskey bottle between them, and a pile of Mayor Grafton's personal effects surrounding them.

"Yes." Olaf took the bottle back and gulped deeply from it, without bothering to wipe it off. "We had a little farm, my Ellen and I. Until we fell behind on the payments. The bank sent half a dozen men to evict us. They came when I was away, trying to raise the money. I got back before they'd gone. Ellen was beautiful, very sweet and gentle, the most wonderful woman I've ever known. They... they hurt her. I fought them. They knocked me out. They set fire to the house, with us inside. Neighbors got me out, but Ellen... Ellen died." He sighed. "The men swore I'd set fire to my own place out of spite, killing my wife and nearly myself by my own stupidity. It was their word against mine."

"And the bank's money behind their word."

Olaf nodded. "So I was put on the chain gang. I didn't mind the work, really. It gave me something to think about besides the way Ellen died. I met Will there. He's a good man, Will is. If it wasn't for him, I think I would have just lain down and died in one of the work ditches. No one would have cared. It's important to matter to someone, Avon."

"Even if the someone is a two-bit thief?"

"Yes," Olaf said simply. "He's your friend, too, Avon."

Avon turned his head aside. "More fool him."

"Voila!" 

The two men looked up, to see Will standing in front of the open safe, with an ear-to-ear grin. The grin faded as he noticed what they were doing. "I like that! I'm breaking my back here and you two are having a party. Is there any left?"

Avon got up and handed Will the bottle. "Don't get too happy. We still have to get out again." He began pulling heavy, cloth-bound ledgers from the safe. Most he glanced at, then tossed to the floor. He kept a few oilskin wrapped bundles of photographs and handwritten notes, tying them into a bundle along with several ledgers."These are what we want," he said.  
"I don't want them," Will corrected. "Rog wants them. I want something I can spend."

"Take this." Avon tossed a packet of money to Will. "Along with the two packets you already pocketed." He raked six more wads of cash out of the depths of the safe. "Your share, Olaf. Buy another farm, why don't you?" he suggested as he handed the big man half of the remainder. 

"It wouldn't be the same." Olaf shook his head, staring at the fortune in his hands.

"No, I don't suppose it would be. Still, I'm sure you can find better uses for it than Mayor Grafton. Let's go." Avon glanced once more around the office. He was the last one out, and, out of an obscure sense of tidiness, shut off the light.

Jane was still playing helpless damsel when they got outside. The two guards were sweating over the bent fender, both hauling and grunting as they tried to pull it back from the wheel, so that they could put on the spare.

"Your turn, Olaf," Will said, patting the big man on the back. Olaf grinned and went around the corner, to keep the guards from getting the right idea when they saw him.

Avon and Will followed, but stopped in the blackness of an alley, to observe the meeting.

"Sally, what have you done?" Olaf cried.

The guards looked up, saw a huge man running toward them, and scrambled to their feet.

"Oh, George, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. It just got away from me. These nice men said it wasn't too bad." Jane blinked and batted her eyes at Olaf. "See, it's just this little tiny bend here."

"That?" Olaf reached one large hand down, grasped the edge of the fender, and pulled it clear of the tire. "Well, I suppose it could be worse." He twirled the tire iron, removing the lug nuts, and replaced the punctured tire with the spare in less than a minute, while the guards stared. "I want to thank you fellows for helping my sister," Olaf said, with a smile, as he gathered her to him, one-handed, for a brotherly hug. 

"That's all right," the guards said, subdued by the casual display of strength. 

Olaf looked sternly down at Jane. "I think I should drive you home now, sis. You've had enough excitement for one night."

Smiling and waving to the guards, Jane settled into the passenger side of the taxi. Olaf got in and took off with a jerk, wiping the grin off Jane's face as her head snapped back into the seat.

"Y' know, Harry," said the first guard as they returned to their post, "her brother doesn't drive any better."

Harry grunted. "Cabbies. They're all lunatics."

***

"Come on up and celebrate, Avon," Will urged when the two reached the street outside Will's boarding house. "Olaf and Jane will be there ahead of us." He winked and nudged Avon in the ribs. "I've invited Cally, too. I didn't tell her why, of course."

Avon didn't move. Instead he took one of the packets of money out of his pocket. "Give her this. And don't try to keep it for yourself. I'll find out, where ever I am."

"What do you mean, where ever you are?"

"I have enough money now to leave. And that is exactly what I am going to do."

"Won't you even say goodbye to Cally?"

Avon's face twisted. "No. I especially will not say goodbye to Cally."

"What about Rog? Aren't you going to give him the evidence?"

"No. He's an innocent, politically. He would simply hand it over, no doubt to one of Mayor Grafton's cronies. I'll take care of the matter." Avon turned, but stopped when Will called to him.

"Why? I mean, why did you really help Rog? You don't even like him."

Avon's lips pursed in annoyance, then he said, "That's why. I don't like him, but I owe him. He could have turned me in- and, unlike you, Olaf, Jane, or Cally, he honestly feels it was his duty to do so. But he didn't. And so I'm in his debt. I assure you, I want to discharge that debt as soon as possible. I never want to owe that man anything."

"I'll tell Rog."

"Do that." And Avon turned and stalked off into the night, leaving Will to scratch his head and puzzle over Avon's strange behavior. Finally, he shrugged and went home to the party.

***

"Governor Blake, are you sure you wish to do this? It isn't politically wise to pardon three criminals in your first day in office." The new governor's aide was wringing his hands. He'd been with Blake over a year, from the beginning of his meteoric rise, and still didn't entirely understand the man. 

Blake looked up from the paper he was inspecting. "Mr. Deva, I have a moral obligation to correct injustice when I find it. You've seen the facts of these cases."

"Well, I admit Olaf Gan was probably railroaded, and Will Restal is such a petty criminal that no one will much care, but Carr Avon? The man's guilty as sin, and you know it."

Rog Blake smiled. "Sometimes a man makes mistakes and needs a fresh start. I did myself, once."

"But you were an innocent man. Those papers proved it."

"Yes, those papers that mysteriously surfaced right where they'd do the most good. No one ever did find out how they got in Mr. Roosevelt's 'in' basket, did they? It must have been a very ingenious man behind it. And one with a warped sense of humor." He signed the pardon with a flourish, blowing on the ink to dry it.

"Avon deserves this pardon and he's going to get it whether he likes it or not. Besides," the Governor said, grinning, " I can't wait to see the look on his face."

"What makes you think you'll ever see him?"

"He hates to be indebted, especially to me," Rog Blake looked fondly at the large photograph of a laughing blonde woman that took pride of place on his desk. "My wife, Jane, is sure he'll show up to throw the pardon back in my face." He chuckled. "But he doesn't know about my secret weapon."

"Secret weapon?" The aide was totally lost. 

"It's only fair, really. He made it possible for me and Jane to marry. Send in my next appointment, will you, Mr. Deva?"

"It's that young woman with the long list of social reforms," he warned.

"Send her in," the Governor said. He rose from his desk, smiling broadly, hand held out in welcome, as the stern-faced young woman marched in past the aide.

"Cally, I have good news. Avon will be coming home."

The aide was slightly scandalized when the woman embraced the Governor, but he shut the door and returned to his desk in the outer office, where the telephone was buzzing for his attention. It was a man calling to protest Carr Avon's pardon. When he informed the caller that the pardon had already been signed, the man sighed, and said, "All right. Tell him I'll be there."

"You want to make an appointment, Mr.-?"

"Avon. Carr Avon." 

The aide made the appointment, then hung up. His mother was right. Politicians weren't normal people. Neither was this Carr Avon, from the sound of him. The Governor's 'secret weapon' had better keep Mr. Avon under control. A political embarrassment could shoot Blake's career down in nothing flat. Which would be a pity. He was such a charismatic man, even the presidency was not beyond him. President Blake, it had a nice ring to it. The aide smiled.


End file.
